Dirty Laundry
by WritePassion
Summary: It's 3 a.m., and Michael Westen has a mission. Fiona and Sam have their own issues when it comes to dirty laundry.
1. Chapter 1

Just a little something that came to me today while doing laundry. As usual, I don't own any of these characters, just having a little fun with them!

**Dirty Laundry**

By WritePassion

**_Michael_**

_ When you're a spy, and you find yourself in the field, whether you're in Moscow or the Amazon jungle, there's one thing that is always necessary. In addition to guns, ammunition, listening devices and other tools of the craft, you need clothes. Preferably clean. And if they get dirty, you need a place to wash them. Preferably not on a rock in the Amazon River._

Michael sat in a chair as he slurped his cup of coffee while he held his head up with one hand. It was extremely late, but there was no time to do this during the day, and he was in serious need of clean clothes. He'd just returned from his latest mission, and after the paperwork and debriefing were done, he was still wound up. So instead of going home, he decided to clear up another priority on his list: do laundry. He was trying to keep a low profile, but hanging out in a laundromat would not achieve that goal. He had to be careful. Keeping his eyes open for fear of falling asleep, he glanced around him. No one else was there but him, which was the way he wanted it. He didn't need someone barging in and disturbing the peace, except for the swishing and rumbling of the washer and dryer behind him. Although, it might have been nice to have someone to talk to.

Fiona was at the loft, long gone to sleep, unless she and Sam picked up a job while he was gone and they were out working. He didn't bother calling, and didn't want to wake her if she was asleep. It wasn't necessary. When he got home, he got home, and she would be happy to see him. It suddenly occurred to him that he and Fi had been living together for awhile now, but they never co-mingled their wash. She took hers away, but she never told him where. Sometimes he caught her as she arrived home with a couple of baskets full of nicely folded clothes and a large jug of laundry detergent. Did she use dryer sheets? He had no idea. Strange, how you could know someone a long time, experience the highs and lows, good times and bad, and yet not know everything about them. It was trivial, sure, but little things like that could tell him a lot about a person.

When Sam lived with him for a week, he didn't do laundry. Everything wound up in a large sack and when he moved out, it went with him. For awhile Sam lived with his mom, Madeline, and no doubt he did laundry at her house. Or she did it for him. That was the way she was. She offered time and again to do his laundry, but Michael liked to take care of it himself. He was funny about that, because he followed the label instructions to the letter, only because he knew it would make them last longer. Unless he was pressed for time, or he was in a location where soap and some water were a luxury, and he wasn't in the middle of a crisis.

The dryer buzzed and Michael cringed. It broke him out of his reverie, and cut through the silence like one of Fiona's bombs exploding on a cool, peaceful evening. He set his cup down and hurried to pull the dry clothes out, replace them with the load in the washer, and quickly fold everything. He placed the underwear on one side of the basket, the t-shirts on another. He brought hangers for the shirts and pants. If he did it right, he wouldn't have to iron anything. He hated ironing.

The laundry room light snapped on, and he turned to face the perpetrator. Seeing the bleary eyed look on her face, he grimaced. "Hi, Ma."

"Michael, what are you doing," she mumbled as she slowly looked around. "Laundry? It's three in the morning!"

"Sorry, Ma, I wanted to get it done before I went home."

"You wanted to get it done so I wouldn't do it for you, is that right?" She threw him an accusatory glare that softened as quickly as it came. She approached him, looked up, and gave him a warm smile. "You know I'm more than happy to do your laundry for you."

"I know, Ma. But I have a system, and it works for me." Michael sighed softly. "I know you mean well, but..."

"It's okay," she spoke tenderly and patted his cheek. "You remind me of your father. He was like that, and he always did his own laundry. He didn't trust me to get it right."

Michael rolled his head and looked down at her. "Please, don't start with that."

"What? I'm not starting anything, I'm just saying!" She shook her head. "Fine, you just finish up your laundry." She turned away and headed for her room. At the opening between the kitchen and dining room, she shot back with a growing smile, "You could have brought it along with Fiona. She's coming over tomorrow to do hers while she plays cards with me and the girls."

He smiled. "Maybe next time."

"Yeah. Maybe. Night, honey." Then she was gone.

Now he knew the secret to Fiona's laundry escapades. Since they were doing their laundry at the same place, maybe it was time to co-mingle. No doubt she would be amicable to his rules, because she seemed to be particular about her clothes. Bringing along her own detergent was a good tip off. The laundry sheet issue, that they might have to talk about, though.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Fiona**_

_Michael and I have been living together for how long now, and I still don't know where he goes to get his laundry done. I never know when he leaves the loft with that large duffle bag if he's going to work out, or do his laundry. Then the next thing I know he has clean shirts and pants hanging in the closet, and his underwear drawer is fully stocked again. It's annoying. We share so much. What's the big deal about dirty laundry?_

Fiona packed two baskets of dirty clothes into the back of her car. Michael was meeting Sam about a new job, but they didn't need her. Besides, she was going to Maddie's to play cards with the girls. She used the ruse as a way to get her laundry done. She hated laundromats. They were always noisy, full of people with questionable hygiene habits, a security risk, and people often left the machines in a state that made her afraid to put anything in them for fear they'd turn out worse. The last time, her underwear smelled like baby poop, and that was the last straw.

She parked in Maddie's driveway and hauled one load in first, and with the second she carried her own soap and a bottle of color safe bleach. She brought a new box of dryer sheets, since Maddie was always so gracious to let her use hers. They were the same brand. Fiona had tried a lot of them, and this one was the best. She carefully measured out the soap and bleach for her first load as if she were mixing ingredients for a bomb. The detergent went into the bottom of the empty drum, the bleach in the side cup. She turned the knob and pressed it in, letting the water dilute the soap enough for her to load the wash inside.

"Fiona, we're ready to play," Maddie called to her.

"Coming, Madeline!" She twisted the covers back on the detergent and bleach, set them aside, and put the other basket on top of the washer for later.

They took a brief bathroom break, and Fiona went to move the laundry to the dryer and put in the second load. She always checked the lint trap before getting her hands wet from the wash, because without fail the lint trap was always full. If she weren't so grateful for Maddie letting her use the machines, she would say something to her about it. Instead, she just grinned and bore it. She threw away the big, dark gray, fuzzy glob and returned to the task at hand. But before she put her wash inside, she spied something lying in the bottom of the drum. She reached in and pulled it out.

One eyebrow rose. _This looks like one of Michael's socks! But it couldn't be. Surely, if he'd done his wash here, he would have noticed one sock missing! _But then she saw the other one wedged between the washer and dryer. Her smile turned into a grin. Now she knew where he did his laundry! It was no wonder he came home so late last night. _Next time he can wait to do the laundry. Come home to me first, and then we can do our wash together. It's about time, isn't it?_

Maddie entered the kitchen and glanced over to see what Fiona was doing. "Are you about ready to continue playing?"

Fiona held up the two socks. "Madeline, did Michael come here last night to do his laundry?"

Maddie looked uncomfortable and puffed on her cigarette.

"You don't have to cover for him. It's just dirty laundry, for crying out loud, not state secrets!"

Maddie sighed. "Yes, he did. He brings his stuff here all the time. Last night I told him that he could have waited until today, when you came with yours, and it could all be washed together." She approached Fiona and said, "The only trouble is, he's particular about his things."

"So am I." She shook her hair behind her shoulders. "Well, I think it's time Michael and I had a discussion about this. It may seem like a trivial thing, but this is about more than whether he uses the correct water temperature or cycle. This is a matter of trust."

"Indeed it is," Maddie agreed with a smile. "Now, why don't you throw that last load in and we'll get back to playing?"

When she arrived home, Michael was still not back. She brought both baskets up and put the clothes away, stowed the supplies under the kitchen sink, and went about straightening and cleaning until he came home.

"Fi, I thought you were going to my Ma's."

She turned and found Michael standing in the doorway alone with a plastic bag and styrofoam takeout containers inside. "We finished awhile ago. It's late, Michael, I was beginning to get concerned about you."

"Oh, it was nothing. Sam and I got to talking with Barry, and time just got away." He put the bag on the bar. "I brought dinner. Hope you haven't eaten yet."

"No, I thought you might pick up something." She smiled as she slipped onto the stool next to him, reached for her set of chopsticks, and snapped them apart. "There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Michael glanced at her and saw by the look on her face that something serious was coming. Was she going to pull a Veronica and use the big "m" word? He steeled himself for what she had to say. "Okay, Fi. I'm all ears."

"We need to discuss a situation. It's...this..." She reached behind her, pulled out something, and held it up for him to see. It was the pair of socks he left behind, freshly laundered. "I know your secret. You left these behind, and your mom admitted you've been doing your laundry at her place."

"And so have you."

She grinned and her cheeks flushed slightly. "Yes, I have. I think it's time we put our things together and took them over to wash all at one time. It's more efficient, really."

"Makes sense."

"And it's silly to keep this a secret between us."

"I agree completely." Michael smiled as if a small weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Of course, we have to compare notes on how we do our laundry. I'm..."

"Very particular. Yes, your Mom said so. Well, so am I." She laid out the rules for how her things were washed, and when she finished, she asked, "Do you have any problems with that?"

"No, not unless you have problems with the way I like to do things. Fortunately, we're really pretty much on the same page." He paused. "I was wondering if you used dryer sheets."

"Always."

"Good." He grinned. "Well, that settles that. Next week, we make a date to do laundry at my Ma's."

"It's a deal. We'll provide dinner, just for her being so wonderful about letting us do our loads there."

He dug into his meal. "And I thought we were going to have problems when we finally had to have this conversation!"

"Just one more thing..."

"Yes?"

"Make sure you clean the lint trap out when you're done! That drives me crazy!"


	3. Chapter 3

_**Sam**_

_I hate doing laundry. When I was with a lady friend, I didn't have to lift a finger to do it. But now that I'm alone, looks like I'm stuck machine washing all my Tommy Bahamas, one hundred percent silk, baby. They deserve the best care. But not just any laundromat will do. This place is perfect, in a better neighborhood with better machines and a better class of people. But the best thing about this laundromat: the bar with a big screen tv. And they make some terrific mojitos!_

One day, as Sam sorted out his laundry into three machines, one for lights, one for the shirts, and one for darks, the most beautiful woman in the world walked in. She was slim, blonde haired and blue eyed, with a peaches and cream complexion, and ruby red lips that begged to be kissed. To his delight, she selected three machines next to his. She didn't even leave a machine empty between them like most people did.

_She separates the lights from the darks. She separates the whites from the lights. She even uses the same detergent and fabric softener that I do. What are the odds?_

He watched her put the quarters into the slots on the machines, one a time, starting up one machine before moving on to the next. A satiny panty lay on the floor near her feet, so he reached down and picked it up. "I think you lost this," he said with a smile as it dangled from his fingers.

"Oh! Thank you." She smiled and her cheeks flushed as she hooked an index finger under the material, pulled it from his fingertips, and opened the washer to throw it inside. The cover banged down.

Still smiling at her, he sat in his seat and paid half attention to his magazine, and half to her. Then it happened. She reached the last machine and was two quarters short.

"Oh, drat," she muttered as she dug into her purse. She pulled out her wallet and searched frantically through the change pocket, then looked into the cash. Her eyes closed and she shook her head.

"Is everything okay?" Sam stood beside her as he jingled the change in his pocket.

"I ran out of quarters, and...you wouldn't happen to have change for a twenty, would you?" She looked up at him with hope in her eyes.

"Uh, sorry, no. But I do have extra quarters," he replied as his hand came out with two of them, which he stuck into the slots and pushed the slider into the machine. "This one sticks. You gotta wiggle it a little or they don't go in."

"Wow. Thanks! I'm glad I ran into you, or I'd probably be frustrated with this machine."

"No problem." Sam took a step back, because when he reached past her to get the machine started, his chest brushed against her shoulder. She smelled like a tropical flower garden, and she was just as beautiful close up. He held out his right hand. "My name's Sam. Sam Axe."

She took it in hers and smiled in gratitude. "Nice to meet you, Sam. I'm Desiree. Desiree Kemp."

"I've never seen you here before."

"I just moved to the Miami area for work. I'm a VP of Communications."

He grinned and leaned against the machine. "I'd think with a title like that you could afford to hire somebody to do your laundry."

"The title may be big, but doing my own laundry helps keep me humble." She turned away and checked on the machines. They were all running and doing their thing. "So, do you have time for a drink?"

"Yeah, sure!" He glanced at his machines. "I'm in the second rinse. Plenty of time."

"Great! You can help me break a twenty for the dryer money."

_Now that's what I call doing laundry!_

After drink number one and some good conversation, his wash was ready to move to the dryers. He was surprised when she followed him into the laundry area and helped transfer the clothes.

"You had one load with just your shirts?" She held up one of his favorites and crushed the fabric in one hand. "Nice material. Smooth. I bet these are comfortable."

"They are. Can you throw that into this machine? I want to dry those separately too. I follow the label instructions."

"I can't blame you. Anything less would ruin them, or make them lose their softness." She tossed it in along with the others, emptied out the washer, and held out her hand. Inside were two quarters. With a sweet smile she said, "I owe you for this."

"You don't have to..." It was too late, the quarters were inside the machine and the shirts flipped and danced around with a dryer sheet. "Thanks."

"Any time, Sam."

With the dryers loaded, her machines completed their cycles, and they worked together to put her things in another set of dryers. She was just as meticulous as he when it came to temperatures. He was impressed. They went back to the bar for drink number two until the shirts were dry. Desiree watched him slip them onto the hangers, and she buttoned the top button to keep them in place.

"You do that too?" He grinned.

"Always. Nothing annoys me more than to go home with a newly laundered blouse on a hanger and have it slip off just as I'm fumbling with the door lock. Especially if it's been dry cleaned!"

Folding the more intimate pieces of clothing in front of Desiree was a little disconcerting. _Why should it bother me? I do it all the time with other people here. But this is different. We've connected on a more intimate plane, and now it's not so impersonal. _When her whites came out, she folded them on the table next to his, sneaking glances at his boxers, undershirts, and socks. He caught her watching, and she turned away. Then he locked on her tiny panties and lacy bras mixed in with sports bras and socks. _She takes care of herself. Not that there was any doubt with a body like that. She's not some young thing, close to my age, and yet she looks like a woman in her 20s. Oh, baby!_

Sam tore his attention away from her because if he didn't, he would make a mess of his own folding, and he was very particular about how his laundry was folded. You could take a man out of the Navy, but you couldn't take the Navy out of the man. He still folded his clothes as he was trained many years ago. Everything was precisely creased in the right places so that it lay flat and wrinkle free. T-shirts lay stacked straight one on top of the other. The boxers were a little tougher, given that they were also silk like the shirts, and they had a tendency to slip around. But he'd learned how to tame them, and they lay in a neat stack next to the other things in the laundry basket. The socks were folded in half, never turned into a ball. It drove him nuts when people did that.

"Sam, you and I have a lot in common, at least when it comes to our laundry," Desiree said as she looked at his basket and pointed to hers. Everything in it was folded exactly like his.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You must have been in the military."

Desiree chuckled. "I was a Lieutenant in the Navy, a communications officer on a couple of carriers."

"Really. I was a Commander in the Navy. And I was a SEAL."

"I should have known." Their eyes locked, and Desiree self-consciously dropped her gaze and returned to folding. "I, uh, have a couple things that are still damp, and I see you have some too. Let's put them together in one more run."

"Sounds good." Sam's hand closed over Desiree's as she put quarters into the machine and he led her back to the bar. "One more?"

"Sure."

At the bar they both had a mojito, their bodies turned at a forty five degree angle toward the bar, their knees touching.

"So...Sam. Will I see you here again next week?"

He sipped on his drink and smiled at her in a way that told her he wouldn't miss it for the world. "I'll be here, Desi."

"Not many people call me that," Desiree said as she leaned closer. "Do you think that it'll be an issue that I'm below you in rank, Commander?"

"Not in the civilian world," he answered, hoping she wasn't trying to make an excuse not to see him again.

"Oh good." Her smile widened. "We better check on that wash. I don't like my work pants getting wrinkled."

"Me neither."

When the last of the laundry was folded and the mojitos were a lukewarm, watered down mess, Desiree hauled her baskets out to her car, a navy blue Mustang. Sam was almost embarrassed to put his into the back of his car, and older Buick sedan. She noticed his ride, but with the smile she gave him, he knew she wouldn't hold it against him.

"See you next week, Sam." She stood with the door between them.

"See you next week, Desi."

Her smile faded to a serious expression as she got up on her toes and lightly pressed her lips to his cheek. It was just a feather light touch, but it was enough to remind him to not miss their date next week. Then Desiree got into her car, pulled out of the space, and waved before shifting the car into first gear..

_Now, why did I ever hate doing laundry?_


End file.
